The Long and Short of It
by LouTheStarSpeaker
Summary: A Neverland of sorts for all my stories who didn't want to grow up. Will be a collection of shorts of varying genres. Marked as complete but will be updated whenever I have small stories to share. *Accepting prompts*
1. Lizards

I'm a Junior now! Ah, school how I have missed thee! (By which I mean my friends and not the actual work) Used my last day of freedom to get this ready to post, so yay! *jazz hands*

This one's been sitting in the back of a notebook, sort of finished but not really. So I spruced it up a bit and decided it would make a kind of cool short story, hopefully the first of many. Please excuse my strange sense of humor (it makes itself known and this story) and know that I had far too much fun writing from the point of view of a lizard. :) ~Lou

Summary: Every great hero has a weakness. Superman has kryptonite, Indianna Jones had snakes, and Gordon Tracy's happens to be lizards. A fact which is quite unfortunate, considering he lives on a tropical island.

* * *

Lizards

Virgil wandered into the living room, tired and sore, but happy nonetheless. The rescue had been a long one, but successful, and he was looking forward to unwinding on his piano before taking a nap.

"Virgil! Finally!"

Virgil turned to the source of the high-pitched, panicky call. It was Gordon, standing on the holo-table, clad in his swim trunks, and wielding a towel like a bull fighters cape.

Virgil sighed, wishing for once- just _once_\- that he could come home and find his household operating in some semblance of a normal order. "Gordon, what is going on?"

"Look! Right there! I'm sure this is Alan's fault! It's the size of a Gila monster!" Gordon shouted, pointing to a lizard on the couch. A little itty-bitty lizard, actually. Only a little longer than Virgil's hand.

Virgil looked back at his brother, very unimpressed. "Gordon, you're being ridiculous. It's just a baby."

Gordon stopped waving his towel madly in the lizard's direction for a moment so he could cross his arms. "Yeah, okay. You get chased by a pair of twenty foot lizards and then tell me I'm being ridiculous."

Virgil shook his head. "You're exaggerating. They were fifteen feet at the most."

"That is _so_ not the point. Now are you gonna do something about that… that…" Gordon didn't have a word that encompassed all the evils of the beast.

Virgil sighed again and cast a longing glance at his piano, knowing full well that his brother would stay up there all day if the lizard didn't leave, and there would be no way to concentrate with all the screeching and towel flapping anyway. "Do you have a box?"

"No, I have a towel!" He said, flapping it again when the lizard made another noise.

"That'll work." Virgil said, taking the towel from his brother and using it to pick up the lizard.

"Careful…" Gordon warned as he creeped up next to Virgil's shoulder, finally coming down from his perch on the table. "It might be poisonous."

"Gords, it doesn't even have teeth yet."

"Still watch out, it could spit poison."

The incredulous look Virgil gave Gordon was one he could have won medals for.

"What?" Gordon asked. "Me and Alan saw a movie about it, it looked legit."

Virgil shook his head and left to go outside. Gordon tagged along, not because he cared at all about what happened to the little creature, but because he wanted to make sure the matter was properly handled. It wouldn't do for more lizards to start popping up out of the woodwork.

While starting down the stairs, Gordon, ever the conversationalist, started explaining how the lizard got into the house in the first place. "I was about to go for a swim, as a guy does, and it just jumped out at me! I ran for the house and it _followed_ me, Virgil. It followed me! I'm sure this is Alan's fault."

Virgil, who had been focused mainly on not getting hit in the head by Gordon's dramatic hand gestures, stopped at this remark, eyebrows scrunched together. "Alan's up in space with John."

"Exactly!" More of the hand gestures. "He knows I can't get to him while he's holed up in Five. It's the perfect time to strike."

"What do you mean 'perfect time' ? How could Alan get to _you_?"

"You underestimate our little brother, Virgil. I've trained Alan well, and now he's turned on me…" Gordon said a little too seriously as he stepped outside, Virgil following behind him and shaking his head.

No sooner than Virgil had set foot on the patio did Gordon shriek. "Ah! It's another one! Where are they _coming from?_"

And indeed at the end of Gordon's pointed finger was another lizard, almost identical to the first, sunning itself on a lounge chair. He peeked open his eyes one by one and let out an indigant lizard squawk. Couldn't they see the poor lizard was sunbathing? Would it harm them at all to be quiet?

From inside the towel in Virgil's arms came another squawk, equally indignant. This lizard was not at all happy with the treatment he'd received from the humans either. Wrapped in a towel by the mannerless creatures and carried around like a helpless infant, they hadn't left him with a shred of dignity.

"There must be a nest nearby." Virgil said as he picked up the second lizard and placed it in the towel with the first, both lizards squawking loudly as he did so.

Gordon's eyes widened. "Alan planted a _lizard nest_ next to my _pool?_" He shouted, even louder than the lizards. That was a low blow, even for Alan, even for prank wars.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Alan has nothing to do with this, Gordon. He's. In. Space."

"That doesn't mean a thing." Gordon said, looking under all the lawn chairs for anymore lizards. "He's the Padawan of a great Jedi Master," Gordon stood up, looking Virgil right in the eyes. "But he's gone to the dark side…"

Virgil rolled his eyes again, for what had to be the millionth time since he ran into Gordon. One of these days they were going to roll right out of his head. Sometimes, his brothers really were too much.

Gordon stayed behind as Virgil traipsed into the jungle to return the lizards home, swim trunks really weren't the best wardrobe choice for jungle hikes, and besides, he had to make sure there weren't anymore scaley surprises lingering around his pool.

Out on a rescue, or in the jungles around the house, Gordon could stand the lizards. He was prepared for them. But his home- his pool- was supposed to be a safe place. Those lizards had been infringing on his turf. All because of Alan…

Virgil returned soon enough, blessedly lizard-less.

"They didn't follow you back did they?" Gordon asked suspiciously, looking behind his brother to check.

Virgil chuckled, handing him his towel. "No, they didn't follow me. You need anything else?"

"Help planning revenge?" Gordon asked hopefully, nudging Virgil with his elbow.

Virgil was already walking away, giving up on convincing Gordon their little brother was innocent. "Have a nice swim, Gordon."

Gordon shrugged at Virgil's retreating back, you couldn't blame a guy for trying. But then Gordon's eyes went wide, realizing Virgil could tip off the authorities. "Hey! Don't tell Scott!"

Virgil just tossed up a hand in a sort of acknowledgment, not at all reassuring, and made his way to his beloved piano, leaving Gordon to swim his laps and plan his revenge to the swelling crescendos of Stravinsky.


	2. Only Little

This story is actually the tweaked version of the first draft of the epilogue for Floodswept. I liked it well enough, but I decided it didn't have the right feel I wanted for the end of the story so it was scrapped. And since I'm not one to let a few hundred good words go to waste I turned it into this story! It's a short little thing but I hope you enjoy. ~Lou

P.S.- Forgot to mention this in the last chapter, but I do accept prompts for shorts, so if you have any ideas leave a comment and I'll see what I can do. :)

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: K+

Summery: Despite all he's seen, all that's happened, and all he's been through, Alan's still only a sixteen year old kid. And that other stuff takes a toll sometimes.

**Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the Thunderbirds, I just like to hang out with them every once in a while.**

* * *

Only Little

The endless droll of a soft voice slipped into Virgil's sleeping thoughts. It wasn't the presence of sound that had disturbed him, but the strangeness of it. Where were the rustling palm leaves and exotic bird calls of his island home? And who was speaking in his bedroom?

Sick of confusing questions with confusing answers, Virgil clawed through the fogginess pressing in on his brain and pushed his way back to consciousness, his eyes opening to slits.

The room was lit with bright white fluorescent and carried the strong scent of disinfectant; this was certainly not his bedroom. The infirmary? No this place was different… a hospital. He was hurt then?

Virgil let out a low groan. Yes, he was. The aching in his middle confirmed that, though the familiar haze of medication dulled the pain. A brotherly voice broke through that haze.

"Virgil?"

Oh, yes. Here was one of the very few nice things about being bedridden. The company.

A hand wrapped around his own, fingers squeezing gently. "Virge? Can you hear me?"

He could, but his mouth was having a hard time communicating that fact, so his fingers squeezed back and he made his voice croak out, "Sc'tt?"

But then he started coughing, these awful chest-rattling things, and spikes of pain reached out of the haze to stab at him. He brought a hand to his abdomen to try and soothe the hurt, but all he could do was tug weakly at his blankets.

The brotherly voice was murmuring, the individual words washed out to Virgil's ears, but the comforting tone soothed him. A hand clung to his until the pain slunk slowly away, back behind the fog. There was a straw at Virgil's lips, and he took a sip before he tried again. "Scott."

His brother was frowning, a tremor in his voice that Virgil could hear when he spoke. "No, Virgil. It's Alan."

"Alan?" Fuzzy shapes started to sharpen in the too bright room, and, sure enough, Alan came into focus at Virgil's bedside, and the sight of him snapped away the drowsiness. His baby brother was red rimmed eyes and messy hair, and startlingly alone.

Alan was never supposed to be in a hospital with an injured brother by himself.

A smile grew on Alan's face as he was recognized. "Yeah, it's me. How're you feeling?"

"Sore… We were on a rescue? What happ-" But the memories clicked into place before the sentence could even be finished.

He and Alan had been on leave from IR, and decided to take a day trip to see the Vehicle Expo. It was fast cars coupled with incredible engineering, the perfect outing for the two brothers. He and Alan had been laughing, hanging out and having fun. But then it'd gone wrong.

There had been a robbery, criminals driving the cars right off the stage, right through the window. Glass had exploded.

And Virgil…

His hand reached for his stomach again, this time feeling the rows of bandages wrapped around his torso. "How bad was I?"

His words were a tentative whisper, but he regretted them as soon as they left his lips. Alan's face turned grim and his eyes stared at something far away, clipped words replacing his soft tone. "Bad enough to need a transfusion."

He nodded to the bag of blood hanging above Virgil's bed, and Virgil just registered the IV line in his wrist. He clung a little tighter to his little brother's hand. "I'm sorry, Alan."

Alan's eyes flashed surprise, and he jerked his head back towards Virgil. "None of this is your fault!"

Maybe not… but that didn't change the fact that Virgil was the reason for the haunted look in Alan's eyes. This never should have happened, Alan was only a kid. Even on missions, when he saw things no sixteen year-old boy should ever see, they all had always made sure he would never have to see them on his own.

And that was just how Virgil left him, alone, watching his big brother bleed out before his eyes.

"Scott's on his way." Alan said suddenly, just to fill up the space. "He's taking Thunderbird One and everything, just get here faster. The hospital didn't want to let you go so soon, but then Johnny got involved and you know how scary he is when-"

"Alan, are you okay?" Virgil cut in softly, stopping the rambling. Alan had been speaking to distract him from his trembling.

"Me? I'm-"

"Fine?"

Alan opened his mouth, as if to agree, but a sob caught itself in his throat instead, and all of a sudden he was shaking breaths and tear streaks. One hand tightened around Virgil's, the other he brought up to his face as if to hide the crying.

Tugging gently on his hand, Virgil pulled a shuddering Alan into as tight a hug as he could manage, his baby brother's head resting on Virgil's chest.

_Oh, Alan, I'm so sorry._ "Shh, Allie, it's okay. You did good."


	3. 5 Reasons Why TB4 Is Better Than TB2

Look at that, guys! Two days in a row, it's miracle! This story is just a little mindless fun, based on one obscure line from another of my stories. I had a chuckle while I was writing it and thought you guys might enjoy it too. ~Lou

Genre: Humor

Rating: K

Summery: It's high time the debate of the century is put to rest. Thunderbird 2 or Thunderbird 4? For Gordon, of course, there's no contest. And he's got the evidence to back it up.

**Disclaimer: Didn't own them yesterday, still don't own them now.**

* * *

**_5 Reasons Why Thunderbird 4 Is Infinitely (And Unquestionably) Better Than Thunderbird 2_**

**_By Gordon C. Tracy_**

**_1\. The pilot of Thunderbird 4 eclipses the pilot of Thunderbird 2 on all aspects of the handsomeness scale._**

Virgil:

Virgil: _What?_

Gordon: What "what"? I see no reason for "what."

Virgil: Is "handsomeness" even a word?

Gordon: Doesn't matter my point still stands. Moving on!

**_ \+ 1 for Thunderbird 4_**

**_2\. Yellow comes before green in the rainbow._**

Virgil: Since when did the order of the rainbow decide which is the better Bird?

Gordon: Um, since when _didn't_ it?

Alan: Y'know guys, red comes before both green _and_ yellow in the rainbow.

Gordon: Be quiet, Alan, this isn't about you…

**_ \+ 1 for Thunderbird 4_**

**_3\. Thunderbird 4 can go underwater._**

Virgil: Thunderbird 2 can fly.

Gordon: Yes and…?

Virgil:

Gordon:

Virgil:

Gordon:

Virgil: You know what? Whatever.

**_ \+ 1 for Thunderbird 4_**

**_4\. Thunderbird 4 is fun-sized._**

Virgil: How is this even a reason? If 4 is fun-sized, then 2 is king-sized. How is fun-sized candy better than king-sized candy?

Gordon: I appreciate your input, Virgil, now if I could just get your medical opinion on the matter?

Virgil:

Virgil: I see your point.

**_ \+ 1 for Thunderbird 4_**

**_5\. Thunderbird 4 is a sleek and sophisticated piece of cutting edge machinery; and Thunderbird 2 looks like a green bathtub with wings._**

Virgil: She does not! Thunderbird 2-

Gordon: -S'design is completely inferior to the swimming beauty that is Thunderbird 4.

Virgil: How do you even judge something like that? Any of us would say that our own Bird looks the best.

Gordon: Well, this time _I'm_ saying it.

**_ \+ 1 for Thunderbird 4_**

Virgil: Hold up, don't add another point yet. I'm not done-

Gordon: Hush, Virgil. This is the best part!

**_Final Score- _**

**_Thunderbird 4: 5/5 _**

**_Thunderbird 2: 0/5_**

Virgil: I demand a recount, this is rigged!

Gordon: You have no proof! I win!

**_Final Verdict: Thunderbird 4 is better than Thunderbird 2 in every way, shape, and form. And to say anything implying otherwise is both highly unintelligent, and utterly untrue._**

* * *

Nobody tell Gordon, but my favorite Thunderbird is actually Two. It carries all the equipment and is super versatile, it's crazy fast for it size which is big enough to live in! (I would totally live inside TB2...If it wasn't always getting blown out of the sky and blasted by volcanoes and stuff...) So, which Bird is your favorite?


	4. Shoelaces

Hello, everyone! This story has been has been sitting around in my head as a barely formed idea for a little while now, and it seemed as good a time as any to finally get it down on paper. Hope you enjoy! ~Lou

Rating: K

Genre: Is fluff a legitimate category?

Summery: A patient teacher, a tedious lesson, and an unconvinced student; one of the many little moments between the youngest brother and the oldest. Wee Tracy Story.

* * *

Shoelaces

Little Alan huffed out a sigh, a pout on his face. "Scotty, why do I gotta learn this? I could just get shoes with straps on them."

The six year-old sat on the floor across from his older brother, Alan's untied sneakers on the floor across from them, the laces trailing on the floor.

"Uh," Scott faltered a bit. There really wasn't a very good reason not to wear straps, was there? "Well, because, Alan, learning to tie knots is a… critical life skill. Just ask Gordon."

"Gordy wears _sandals_ everywhere, Scott." Alan said crossing his arms. And with his head tilted just that way he was a perfect imitation of John when he didn't believe something. Gosh, their baby brother was growing up quick.

"True." Scott said. "But Gordon likes sailboats, and you need to know knots if you want to know sailboats."

Alan slid forward across the floor, reaching out with his toe to kick his sneaker around, a six year-old once more. "But I don't wanna know sailboats, Scotty. So I can just stick with straps."

Scott shook his head as he watched his little brother pick up one of his shoes and proceed to crush a potato chip he'd found on the floor, Alan selling the performance with terrified potato chip screams.

Scott had taught nearly all of his brothers to tie their shoes, with the exception of John, who'd been a classmate rather than a student, and never before had Scott had so much trouble convincing a little brother to actually _want_ to learn.

Virgil and Gordon had seemed to see it as some sort of big boy right of passage, to have tie-up shoes and not need an older brother to do up the laces. But Alan was quite content with his straps, and when shoes with laces had been purchased for him he'd seen them as something of a chore at best.

What the kid needed was some incentive to learn, some kind of reward. Scott and John had been satisfied with stickers at that age, and Virgil a pack of crayons. Gordon had driven the hardest bargain with a goldfish, but nothing of that sort worked with Alan. He was quite satisfied with his imagination and someone to play with, that was about all that was important in the world, to his little boy way of thinking.

Scott almost gasped out loud when the obvious answer hit him, and it would be decidedly less work than a goldfish too. "You know, Allie, if you learned how to tie, you'd have the skills of a sailor, just think how impressed Gordon would be!"

The potato chip crushing stopped. This was a rare opportunity. It wasn't often that Alan, the littlest of the Tracy's, impressed his big brothers.

Alan brought the shoe down on the potato chips again, but Scott knew his heart really wasn't in it; there were no chip screams this time, and Scott, knowing his baby brother so well, remained quiet while Alan mulled it over.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Alan stopped pulverizing the potato chip, for good this time, and climbed into his brother's lap like he'd done the last time Scott had tried to teach him.

Smiling, Scott took Alan's shoe and placed it in his baby brother's lap. "Do you remember the rhyme I taught you last time?"

Alan nodded, blond hair bobbing against Scott's chest, and began to chant the words as Scott's fingers slowly worked through the steps. "Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree…"

Alan was tying his shoes by the end of the afternoon. And, yes, Gordon was very impressed.


	5. Ginger Tea

Hey, guys! It's been a minute, hasn't it? I've been working on some of my original work so fanfics had taken a backseat, but I knew I wanted to get something else up before the New Year, so here you go! This story's been collecting dust on my computer for over a year and while I was organizing my drive I stumbled across it. This story is kind of a reflection of me. When I started writing it I had just transferred to public high school after being homeschooled for many years and was having some trouble adjusting to the schedule and workload and unfortunately developed insomnia. The story was originally titled "Sleepless" but I changed it to better reflect the intentions I had for writing it, which were comfort. I hope you enjoy! ~Lou

_Dedicated to my mom, for being the Lucy of my own story._

Rating: K

Genre: Family/Comfort

Summary: The hour is late and Lucy once again discovers John unable to sleep. Gently, she works through her quiet son's walls to discover what is bothering him so he can finally rest.

* * *

Ginger Tea

Lucy's eyes opened to the sound of footsteps in the hall. They were gentle and quiet, but her ears were tuned to even the faintest sounds of her sons, even as she slept. She moved to get out of bed when Jeff shifted next to her.

"Lucy?"

"It's John again." She whispered back to him.

He turned over and rubbed his eyes. "Do you want me to check up on him?"

"No, no. You've got all those meetings in the morning. Go back to sleep, I'll check on him." Jeff mumbled something by way of an answer, but he was really already asleep again. Lucy slipped on a sweater over her pajamas, then moved silently down the hall to where Virgil and John shared a room.

Looking in, she saw John sitting up in bed, a water bottle in his hand, his eyes gazing at the sky beyond his window.

"John?" Lucy asked quietly over Virgil's snores. Her son started, then turned to look at her, his eyes sheepish.

"Yes, Mom?"

"I thought I heard footsteps, was that you?"

"Yeah, I was thirsty." He said holding up the bottle. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

Lucy waved his concerns away. "Don't give it another thought, Johnny." She said and sat down next to him. Lucy glanced at his clock, her brow furrowing slightly as she read the numbers. **4:16**. "How long have you been up, John?"

John shrugged. He hadn't counted the hours, but he knew it'd been far too long.

Lucy frowned as she came to a new conclusion. "John, did you sleep at all tonight?"

John shook his head, his eyes on the floor. "Don't think so."

Lucy placed a hand on his cheek and looked into his exhausted face. Deep shadows had settled under his eyes and stress wrinkled his brow. He still wouldn't look at her, his gaze remaining firmly on the floor.

Lucy traced a thumb across his cheek. "Would you like to help me make some tea, John?" He nodded and she took his hand, leading him downstairs to the kitchen.

Lucy filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "Why can't you sleep, John?"

Her son shrugged 'I don't know', opening the cabinets and reaching for a mug. John did know, Lucy was sure, but if she pressed him he'd never tell her, so Lucy switched the conversation to lighter topics.

She spoke amiably of Gordon's next swim meet and Alan's new sweater already with holes. She tried to get John to talk, but his answers were single words and his smiles were superficial.

After the water boiled, Lucy and John settled onto the couch with their mugs of tea. John stared straight ahead as he drank his, a spicy-sweet smell wafting from his cup.

"Mm, ginger." Lucy smiled, taking in the scent. "What made you choose that kind?"

He shrugged. "I just like the taste, I guess."

"Ginger's good for stomach aches. Did you know that?"

John nodded. Lucy searched his face again, sighing. "You're not sick are you, John?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"No, I didn't think so. You would've told me if you were sick." She set down her cup. "Stress, then?"

John nodded simply. "I have a big test tomorrow."

Lucy knew about the physics test, John had been studying for it all week. She also knew that while the test was part of the problem, it was not the root of it. This year, John had been moved ahead two grades, and her fourteen year old son was now sharing classes with juniors and seniors.

Unfortunately, it had not been the smoothest of transitions, and John had been having trouble adjusting not only to high school in general, but being the youngest in every class. Lucy was sure John's quiet nature had done him no favors, and the added stress had left him struggling to fall asleep.

"Johnny, we've been over this." Lucy said, a hand on his chin so he would finally look at her. "You'll do fine, physics is one of your best subjects."

John only sighed, letting his head fall on her shoulder, hands fiddling with the handle on his mug. He stayed silent for so long Lucy didn't think he would say anything more that night, but then he mumbled, "That's the problem."

"What's that?"

"I'm good at it. That's the problem."

Lucy leaned forward to try and see her son's face. "What do you mean, John?"

"There's this guy in my physics class, Mike Stewart. He was having trouble with the lesson so I offered to tutor him." John lifted his head, looking at Lucy of his own accord for the first time all night. "I wasn't trying to be rude, Mom, really. But the guy, he's in Scott's grade, and he thought I was making fun of him because I understand it and he doesn't. He _hates_ me now."

John's emotions were plain on his face now that he'd decided to open up, Lucy didn't even have to ask how miserable this Stewart boy had been making her son.

"Oh, Johnny." Lucy pulled John in for a hug, but inwardly she was kicking herself. She should've known. She kissed his forehead and cupped his face in her hands. "Come on, John, bedtime."

Lucy's eyes glanced over at the wall clock as they stood. It was now almost five, and her other sons would be up and about in just over two hours. Lucy watched John's face settle into a weary frown as he too came to that conclusion. Lucy put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "You can stay home from school today."

The two made their way back to John and Virgil's bedroom, and John slipped under his comforters, finally ready to rest. Lucy sat on the edge of his bed, running her fingers through his hair as she hummed an old lullaby about promises and dreams, singing the words when she remembered them. Very soon, John's breaths evened out and he was asleep.

Lucy smiled sadly down at him. She certainly had a lot to tell Jeff tomorrow. She rose to leave, feeling very tired herself, when the voice of her middle son stopped her.

"Is Johnny okay, Mom?"

Lucy turned to see Virgil looking up at her, brown eyes wide and concerned. Lucy couldn't help the smile on her lips. Her eleven year old could snore through screaming alarm clocks but a gentle lullaby managed to rouse to him? She'd tuck that tidbit away for future use.

"Johnny's fine, Virgil. He just had trouble sleeping. You can go back to sleep."

Virgil's eyes flickered over to his brother then back to his mom. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She said, tucking him back in. "Good night, Virgil."

Virgil gave a sleepy smile. "It's morning time, Mom."

Lucy glanced through the window at the sunrise sky.

So it was.

~_TB_~

John sighed, turning over in bed once more before finally letting himself admit that he wasn't going to get any sleep this way. He got up from bed and made his way to the kitchen, setting the kettle on for a cup of ginger tea.

John gazed through the glass of the gravity ring as Earth came into view below him, his eyes zeroing in on the Category 4 steadily making its way across the Atlantic. The hurricane would hit shore by morning.

"Big test tomorrow." John murmured.

The kettle whistled and John made his tea, taking the mug back to his bedroom and settling on his bed. It was about one a.m. and while that was by no means a terribly late night for him, he had an early morning tomorrow, and a hurricane to guide his brothers through.

John smiled ruefully as he remembered his high school days, it'd been a long while since he'd found himself unable to sleep. But his expression became wistful as he remembered that one night with his mom. He'd been miserable that night, but it was one of his favorite memories of her.

John suddenly found himself with an ache in his chest. He missed his mother most at night, quite an ironic fact considering he'd chosen to surround himself with stars.

John picked up his watch of his bedside table, hesitating for only a moment before he hailed Tracy Island, opening a private line straight to Virgil's room. John smiled when his little brother picked up on the second beep, Virgil didn't sleep through alarms anymore.

"John?" Came Virgil's bleary voice. He sat up in the dark and rubbed his eyes, taking in his brother, dressed in pajamas and calling from his bedroom. "You alright, Johnny?"

John quickly put his brother's mind at ease. "I'm fine, Virge. Not sick, just can't sleep."

Virgil's face softened at the words, while he did not hear them often, they were not unfamiliar. "Do you want me to play you something?"

John nodded, smiling. Virgil never made anyone ask, he always seemed to know just what they needed.

John waited a minute while Virgil made his way downstairs, feeling a bit guilty for it considering the time of night, but Virgil told him not to think anything of it. His little brother settled at the piano bench, playing a few bars to warm himself up, then slowly easing into a gentle lullaby about promises and dreams.

The first time Virgil had played it for him was shortly after their mother's passing, and John had cried while listening to it. He'd been sure he'd never hear it again. Tonight, John hummed softly as Virgil played, eyes closed as he listened to the music, only remembering the words his mother had and breathing in the spicy-sweet scent of ginger.


	6. Each Other's Backs

Hello, hello, everyone! I kinda went MIA for a minute there, but I found a swatch of dialogue in my notes that was begging to be turned into a story. This was a bit challenging, I've never written anything with just dialogue before, but I feel like I've stretched my writer muscles and have blown the dust off my skills after my bout of inactivity. Hope you guys enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day!

Every Wish,  
~Lou

Rating: K

Genre: Humor/Family

Summery: There are many ways to protect a brother.

* * *

Each Other's Back

"I guess there's a reason you played football and not soccer, huh, Virge?"

"Oh, crap, Alan, I'm sorry, you okay?"

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine. Didn't even me that hard. Your kick's not all that great, you know."

"You sure? Maybe I should check, you know, just to be safe."

"Virgil. It was a soccer ball, not a brick. I'm fine."

"No, no, no. You sit down here-"

"Virge, no-"

"-I'll just do a _quick_ assessment-"

"I don't _need_ an assessment!"

"-It'll just be a second, I promise."

"Gosh, you're worse than Scott!"

"Follow my finger, please…. You're not following…. You're still not following….Y'know, Allie I'm beginning to think you might have a serious concussion."

"_Oh, for goodness sake._"

"It's a miracle! Following my finger _and _my instructions! Actually, on second thought, that's really very unusual behavior, you sure you're feeling alright, Al?."

"Virgil, I swear I will team up with Gordon and paint your 'Bird red and yellow."

"Like ketchup and mustard? Interesting color choice."

"Oh-ho, you'll find out."

"The thanks I get for helping out a brother… "

"'Helping out' is a strong choice of words-"

"Hey, hey! You can't leave yet, I still have to ask you some questions."

"Is that really- _really-_ necessary?"

"Of course, it's protocol. If you don't believe me you can check the handbook, I'm sure I have a copy around here somewhere-"

"Y'know what? Fine. I'll answer the questions, fire away."

"What's your name?"

"… Are you kidding me?"

"Answer the question."

"_Alan._"

"Full name."

"Virgil!"

"I thought you said your name was Alan."

"You spend way too much time with Gordon."

"I don't think that's what it says on your birth certificate."

"Alan Shepard Tracy."

"In my medical opinion, it took you far too long to recollect your own name. Next question. How old are you?"

"_Six_. _Teen_."

"And who am I?"

"My annoying older brother who abuses his authority to torment me!"

"Now I know you've suffered memory loss. Scott's downstairs."

"You're insufferable."

"And here I'd gone my whole life thinking I was Virgil."

"Dad jokes. That was an actual- _Stop_ laughing, Virge, that was not funny!"

"Mmhmm, 'course not. You're free to go, by the way."

"So, we've established my head's not going to implode?"

"Yup. We've also established your utter lack of a sense of humor."

"Ah, we'll see who's laughing. You watch your back, Virgil!"

"If you say so, Al! … - Alright, Scott, he's gone."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, he went to find Gordon. Come on up."

"Thanks, Virge. I owe you one."

"Prank Protection would be _much_ appreciated. "

"If Prank Protection were a thing don't you think I would've been using it for the past ten years?"

"Fair point. You have all the pieces?"

"I tried, but it pretty much shattered. I might've missed some. Allie's gonna kill me."

"We'll make do. Here put it on the desk, I'll get the super glue. Maybe we can fix it."

"I hope so. The rocket ship was his last birthday present from Dad."

"… I know. But don't worry. I think I can put it back together."

"Seriously? Virge, I swear, you're a miracle worker."

"On occasion."

"Thank you so much. Really."

"No problem."

"And I'll see about getting you that Prank Protection. I'll pull in all the favors if I have to."

"Thanks, Scott."


	7. Numbers

Here we are, another short little story! This one's pretty sad, but Jeff returning made me think a lot about Jeff leaving in the first place, so here's that night.  
~Lou

_Inspired by lenle-g'__s lovely artwork of Jeff carrying a young Alan over on tumblr. Sorry I can't do a link- if you're interested and can't find it, __message me and I'll see if I can't point you in the right direction._

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: K+

Summary: Most days, John finds numbers to be a safe, reliable thing. But when the world breaks, John finds all they do is tell him all the things he doesn't want to know.

* * *

Numbers

John had been up too many hours. He knew that. He didn't want to count them, but he couldn't stop himself.

Sixteen hours and twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

The clock said his day hadn't been too long, but he knew better than to trust seconds and minutes when his world was being pulled from underneath him. Pain had a way of warping time.

He wanted to sleep. Forget for a while that the things that were never supposed to happen had happened, twice now to him and his family.

Two.

Two times.

It kept adding up. It kept adding up and John needed it to stop because if it didn't stop next time it would be Grandma or Kayo or his _brothers-_

Brothers. Four of them.

He needed them all.

His bedroom door creaked open and, as if summoned by the thought, a little blond boy with race car pajamas tip-toed in. A boy who was supposed to be asleep, like John wanted to be, because sleeping children didn't know about the numbers- adding and subtracting in all the wrong directions.

"John, I had a nightmare."

_Oh Allie, you've woken into a far worse one believe me-_

"And I guess Dad's still out 'cause I couldn't find him."

_We couldn't either… _

"Can I count the stars with you?"

_I'm sick of counting, Allie._

But John didn't say any of that. Didn't tell him about time shifting. About sleep that didn't come. Didn't tell him that the numbers had decreased _again_.

Zero.

Zero parents now.

Didn't tell him because he couldn't_. _

Couldn't take away from Alan what John wanted so badly for himself.

Just one more night. One more night believing the world was all in place. That the sky wasn't about to shatter.

So John said yes, and he counted the stars and told their stories until Alan fell asleep again. And if Alan had thought it was strange that John held him tight the entire time, he didn't show it, just accepted the attention contentedly.

Because Alan was only nine.

He didn't think of an extra hug as a warning sign. That the arms around him wished they were shields, wished they could keep out all the things that were going to hurt him.

But Alan wouldn't be nine forever. And John wished he could stop those numbers too, because his brother would grow without any parents watching him.

He would have instead a grandma, and a sister, and many brothers. People that loved him, true, but none who had thought they'd have to raise him.

John had a longing for them, his brothers. All of them at once. He loved them too, after all.

So John, with sleeping Alan in his arms, tip-toed down the hall to Scott's room.

That's where they would be of course. When you were having a nightmare, you went to your big brother.

There were three inside Scott's room, just as John knew there would be.

Gordon, asleep in Scott's bed, face flushed from tears none of them wanted to admit to. Virgil, sleeping as well, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, shivering despite the blanket on his shoulders. And Scott, the only one awake among them, Virgil's head on his shoulder, ever awake and watchful.

When Scott saw John standing there with Alan in his arms, he smiled. And it was such a painfully sad thing John almost wished he hadn't smiled at all, because Scott was trying so _hard_. Just like he had before.

Scott was twenty. That was supposed to be a good number. Why did the world always shatter on Scott's good numbers?

Fourteen had been Mom. Now twenty was Dad.

And Scott was left playing the roles of both parents when he should just be flying fast planes and teasing little brothers, not raising them.

But when Scott invited him in with a look, how could John say no? You didn't say no to anyone on a night like this. He didn't want to be alone.

John laid Alan gently down next to Gordon, covering them both with blankets that would surely be kicked off, then he sat down on Scott's other side, relaxing into his brother's hold when he put his arm around him.

In his head, John counted each of Scott's breaths. They were even in a way that meant Scott was trying hard to keep them that way, but John could hear the threat of tears at the end of each. But he counted them anyway, there were far worse things he could have chosen.

Each time he reached five he started over again, because five was another good number. He could count five on one hand. A finger for each brother, and one more for him.

Five of them.

It was a good number to be.

He hoped it wouldn't change.


	8. Passerby

Hooray for the written word! I've been lacking inspiration lately and have finally been able to write something. It's short but I love it, and was inspired by a tumblr post about the strangers you remember. (Also I'm on tumblr now! I'm under the same name) So have a cute fluffy fic, and I've gotta go 'cause my online class starts in two minutes!

~Lou xx

Rating: K

Genre: Family

Summery: Some people you just see for a moment, or speak to for a sentence, and they stay stuck in your mind in a way that makes you wish you weren't a stranger.

* * *

Passerby

I remember my flight was delayed twice that day and I was sipping cold coffee and flipping through a magazine to pass the time. My phone had died, and I'm happy it did. I doubt I would have noticed the little boy otherwise.

He was maybe seven years old, with blonde hair and bright eyes, zipping about the waiting area with a toy car in his hands, acting as the commentator of an imaginary race.

"In a desperate attempt to catch up, the Crimson Shadow takes a _dangerous_ shortcut through Domino Canyon!"

A series of '_vrooms_' and explosions followed as he drove the car over arm rests and coffee tables, looking quite at home in an airport.

"Alan!" A deep voice called, and the boy startled with a guilty look. "How many times have I told you not to run off?" A tall man weaved his way through the furniture, tailed by three other boys. His sons and Alan's brothers, if the resemblance in their faces was anything to go by.

"Sorry, Daddy." Alan said sheepishly, running up to his family. "I made sure I could still see you."

The oldest boy, a redhead, ruffled his little brother's hair. "But we can't see _you_, Sprout. That's the problem."

Alan huffed and crossed his arms, seeming to take some offence from that statement. "I'll get tall when I'm older. Taller than Gordy!"

"Will not!" Came the indignant reply.

"Will to!"

"Will not!"

"Will t-"

"Boys, please, we're in public." Their father cut in sharply, sending an apologetic look to those who would meet his eye. I smiled when he met mine. Though annoying to some, and embarrassing to a parent, I quite enjoyed his boys' banter.

Alan's father commandeered a small section of the waiting area for his family, and his boys settled in. A tablet and sketchbook appeared, the older two evidently well prepared to fend off ensuing boredom, While the two youngest seemed to get on just fine with the other for company.

Atop the coffee table with a stack of magazines and the contents of their dad's pockets, they constructed Alan's Domino Canyon, taking turns driving the car and manning the death traps the canyon was inevitably riddled with.

They were shushed every other minute by their father, muttering sheepish sorrys and staying quiet for all of sixty seconds before their volume increased again. It was sweet though.

People in airports- and people in general- always seemed to be some combination of bored, rushed, exhausted, or irritated. This family was none of those things. They chattered to each other, laughing quietly and teasing good-naturedly. They made the space seem different.

I smiled as Alan and his brother somehow shifted their whole setting under the sea, reluctantly turning my eyes back to my magazine. It was rude to stare for so long, but at least the article wasn't as boring as I'd remembered.

Time ticked by and my flight was called at last. Gathering up my things, I rose to go. Alan seemed to have gotten bored of his race car/submarine and was now skipping around on the floor tiles (only the grey ones), being careful to stay in his father's line of sight this time. I pulled on my coat and the little boy stopped dead in front of me.

At a loss, I smiled hesitantly at him, and he returned it with a gap-toothed grin. He pointed a finger at my coat. "I like your jacket! It's my brother's favorite color."

I smiled in earnest now. The blue wool was very similar to the color of the little boy's eyes. "Thank you very much. I like your race car."

Those eyes lit up. "Thanks!"

My flight was called for again and I quickly waved good-bye. I spared a glance over my shoulder at Alan's family, wondering which of his brothers' favorite colors was blue.

I ran smack into a man in my distraction. He was tall, dressed head to toe in military camouflage, and he reached out a hand to steady me until I regained my balance. I looked up to apologize, and was stunned into a stupor as a wave of déja vu overtook me.

He looked _just_ like-

My eyes turned back over my shoulder, landing on Alan's father.

The man followed my gaze and his whole demeanor changed. He seemed to light up from the inside out.

"Sorry about that." He said to me, though it'd been my fault, eyes still over my shoulder. He side stepped around me and rushed forward with long strides, weaving through the crowd with an almost giddy sort of eagerness.

Alan, still skipping on the floor tiles, was the first to see him.

"Scott!"

The little boy took off, and Scott was running now too. He dumped his duffle bags right there in the middle of the airport as Alan leapt, catching him out of the air and lifting him high, laughing all the while.

Scott hugged him close, Alan clinging like a koala. "Oh, Sprout, I've missed you."

To this day I've never seen another person convey love with such feeling as this young man toward his little brother.

The rest of their family was upon them in a great cyclone of hugs and laughter, and the soldier-come-home was embraced at least twice by each of them.

My heart swelled in my chest at their smiles. I'd have stayed watching them for as long as they were there, but it was the last call for my flight and I rushed to board.

I never saw them again, not in person. I send up prayers for a family of strangers now though, and I kept my blue coat long after it was worn out.


End file.
